


A Night Like This

by dizzzylu



Series: It's Not the Things You Say [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I started It's Not the Things You Say back in June of 2011, never having written anything for Arthur/Eames before, and a little nervous to make this my debut fic. Luckily, <a href="http://cherrybina.livejournal.com">cherrybina</a> hosted <a href="http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/239684.html">Inception Kinkfest 2.0</a> in October, which I hoped would give me a chance to write a few fills and dip my toes in the water. <a href="http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/239684.html?thread=17457220#t17457220">And then a prompt showed up that seemed damn near perfect as a scene in my big bang</a>. So I filled it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night Like This

The last place Arthur thinks to look for Eames is at the lake. But in the quiet of the house, he can hear distant splashes and he knows there can be only one explanation for it. 

The moon is high in the clear, star-spangled sky, casting the yard in deep, unforgiving shadows. From the deck, Arthur can see a dark silhouette bobbing up and down on the glassy surface of the lake. It's Eames swimming out from the sea wall, then back in again; long, languid laps that Arthur loses count of.

The grass is cold and damp under his bare feet as he strolls over, hands tucked in his pockets. Eames' clothes lay in a pile on the cement wall. Shorts, t-shirt... _boxer-briefs_. Arthur grins.

He steps up to the wall, toes curling over the edge, and watches Eames cut through the water, as fluid and graceful here as he is on land. His skin looks pale against the deep blue darkness underneath him and his hair is darker, smoothed flat against his scalp. He doesn't notice Arthur until he turns around to return; flashes a grin at him and says, "Water feels great!"

"Not fucking likely!" he shouts back, knowing exactly how cold that water is and not willing to subject himself to that this late at night. 

Eames shrugs his shoulders and dives in, feet disappearing under the surface in one smooth motion. Arthur counts to eight before Eames surfaces, still a good twenty feet away from the wall. He dives again and closes the distance. 

"C'mon," Eames taunts with a wide grin. "We could race."

Arthur sits down and lets his legs dangle. "What would I get if I win?"

Eames laughs. "Well, _I_ was going to say a blow job if I win. But if you win?" Eames taps a finger against his too-pink lips, as if he really has to think about it. "You let me eat you out until you're begging me to come."

Arthur's cock throbs at the idea of it, but there's still the problem of the cold water.

"Prat." Eames slaps the water under Arthur's legs to splash him and it raises goosebumps on his skin. "Ah well," he sighs. "You're the one missing out."

Arthur's smile is smug when he says, "I'm fairly certain you'll figure out another way to get your mouth on my ass. I have faith."

Eames frowns. "You've barely been here three months. How do you know me so well?"

"Observation Mr. Eames," Arthur answers with a wink.

Eames laughs, deep and full, and continues his laps, speeding up only slightly to show off for Arthur. The chorus of crickets surrounding him is soothing and Arthur leans back to lay down on the wall, but the concrete rubs uncomfortably behind his knees and at his elbows, so he retreats to the grass. It's wet with dew, but clothes can be washed. 

He leans back, propped up on his elbows with his head tipped back, eyes closed. In between the swishing of Eames in the water and the sharp cry of a cardinal, he thinks about what lies ahead for him, mere weeks from now; abandoning this unreal peace for the fast pace of New York City. To leave the Garden of Eden and all the friends he's made to start school, finally put himself on the road to becoming the editor he's always dreamed of being.

But it means leaving Eames behind. A piece of his himself, too.

Arthur sighs and opens his eyes, startles at Eames hovering over him. From this angle, Arthur's attention is drawn directly to Eames' cock, half-hard with the head peeking out from the foreskin, dusky pink in the silvery light. Arthur licks his lips reflexively.

Eames steps over Arthur, a foot on either side of his hips, and kneels down. With each hand planted on the ground next to Arthur's forearms, he leans forward and kisses Arthur, tongue soft and searching. "Quit thinking so hard," Eames says, pulling back only enough to get air. His lips brush against Arthur's as he continues, "I can hear the gears turning."

The tension in Arthur's shoulders melts away at the first brush of Eames' fingers through his hair, nails scraping over the scalp as he combs through the mess of curls. He tips his head back on instinct, baring the soft line of his neck to Eames. He takes advantage by sucking a series of kisses along the length, stopping when he gets to the sharp jut of Arthur's collar bone. The rasp of his damp stubble feels extra sharp over the delicate skin there.

"You're getting me wet, you know," Arthur says, lazy and relaxed, tongue heavy in this mouth. He doesn't have a shirt on, but his shorts are damp and cling to his sticky erection.

Eames rolls his hips, grinding their cocks together through the thin layer of Arthur's track shorts. "That's the idea."

Arthur chuckles against Eames' parted mouth, hovering just above Arthur's, and falls flat to the ground, Eames a shadowed figure above him. He wraps his hands around Eames' wrists and tugs, lets out a soft 'oof' when Eames lands against his chest. With his feet flat on the ground, he rolls his hips up, grinning at Eames' low groan.

"Don't suppose you have a condom tucked in these pants of yours," he rumbles, hands sneaking under the waistband where he knows good and well Arthur doesn't have any condoms hidden. 

"Those aren't pockets, Eames."

"Are you sure?" The backs of his knuckles brush along the spine of Arthur's cock and he hisses, back arching into it. A pulse of precome soaks into his shorts.

"Positive," he grits out.

He says, "I guess we'll have to move this inside then," before leaning down to surround one of Arthur's nipples with the wet heat of his mouth. His tongue traces lazy circles around it, teeth sharp against his skin. He shows no signs of moving and Arthur doesn't want him to anyway. 

Eames' hand is heavy at Arthur's waist, thick fingers slipping inside the waistband to pull them down. The evening air is cool on his cock, but quickly replaced by the Eames' heat as he blankets Arthur's body with his own.

His fingers wrap around both of their cocks, pumping them slow and steady, using their combined precome to slick the way. Arthur grabs onto Eames' shoulders, his sides, fingernails scrabbling along the slippery curve of his ass. With Eames wet, Arthur can't get a grip anywhere, and he feels helpless against the fire rushing through his veins.

Eames' head tips forward, bumping their noses together, and his breath gusts hot over Arthur's lips and chin. He's panting, broken words that sound a little like nothing, but also a little like Arthur's name. Arthur smiles and captures Eames' lips in a dirty-wide kiss, all teeth and tongues and wide open mouths. 

The orgasm builds slow like this, without Eames in him, surrounding him completely, but it's good, too. It doesn't all have to be a frantic fight of tangled limbs. This, with the stars overhead and Eames a solid weight pinning him down, is comforting, good. Right. 

Eames falls to his forearm, pressing them together, and his cock fits naturally in the groove of Arthur's hip. His hand slips underneath Arthur to pull him closer. They glide together easily, sweat and precome and the lake water slicking the way.

With the slow build-up, Arthur is surprised when he comes sticky-slick between them. Eames grinds him through it, thrusting slow with his hips until he, too, is pumping wet and hot, gritting out, "Arthur, _fuck_ " at the end of it.

He collapses to the ground, spent, and gathers Arthur close to him, his shorts still twisted around his knees. Without Eames over him, moving with him, everything feels suddenly cooler and Arthur shivers. 

"I think we should go back to the house now," he whispers, the words whispered into the crook of Eames' neck

Eames hums, hand splayed wide and low on Arthur's back. "In a minute." He squirms as if he's settling in for the night, and Arthur pulls back enough to see that his eyes are closed. 

"If you fall asleep," he warns, "I'm leaving you out here."

Eames only smiles.


End file.
